blahblahblah

ten

I am as much a burnt out house as I am anything.

A burnt out house on a burnt out lot.

Which is to say, there's room for potential. Though sometimes—at my worst—I want to walk away from the lot and start over fresh somewhere far away from everything and everyone familiar…leave the shell of a house and the lot to gravity and nature. Fuck it, fuck everyone, and fuck everything.

That feeling comes less and less often, and less strongly, with time.

What I will do, instead, is let the burnt out house finish smoldering. Then bulldoze. The lot will be fine. Build something new on the lot. Maybe something similar to what was there before, maybe something completely different.

You can't build anything without damaging or destroying something else first.

nein

I want—I need—to go home.

 

First I need to figure out where that is.  And remember who I am. 

 

I hate that fucking Ch-ch-ch-changes song.

eight

Best day so far. No anxiety in the morning, no sickness, normal sleeping, and normal eating. Not wearing the ring anymore, and it doesn't feel weird. Better all the time.

 

Still hard to talk about, sometimes. I get a little overwhelmed with the missing of you when someone asks if I'm okay. I'm really doing ok...but my body over reacts still. A little less, now, but it's still there.

 

Hunting jobs. Hunting internships. Hunting self improvement. Hunting vehicles. Hunting apartments. Hunting for a plan beyond finishing the degree.

seven

Days aren't too bad. Generally ok. Long walks help when it gets bad.

 

Nights are still kind of hard. Not as bad as they were, and only from time to time. 

 

Waking up is the hardest now. My body doesn't remember anything except the weight and warmth of you, doesn't understand why you're not there anymore. I wake up in a panic. Sometimes at 4:30, 5:30, 6, 6:30. It changes from day to day. Still sick, but only when I first wake up.

 

My body doesn't know this is for the best, for both us. My body doesn't know that we're still friends, that we still love each other, that this isn't the end.

 

Stupid fucking body.

six

Do over.

 

I have made a lot of mistakes, which I regret. But for the first time, and to some painful consequences, my head is far enough out of my ass to address the issues that caused those mistakes. I don't regret that part of it, as much as it hurts. 

 

The upside? Friendship is not an end, just a healthy change of direction. 

 

The downside? I just realized I am a long-ass drive away from every single person I wish I was closer to. But that won't always be the case, and technology is wonderful (in moderation).

five

Note To Self:

 

You are physically and emotionally exhausted.

 

You are trying to keep your head and heart in check.

 

You can't always be as strong as you want to be.

 

Try to remember that this is better than the alternatives.

 

You wish you could take a lot of things back…do a lot of things differently. But you can't. 

 

You can only change the future. The past, regardless of how you feel about it, is done and over with.

 

Keep looking for a second job, a small apartment, a cheap beater of a car/truck.

 

Daily Mantra: STARTING OVER IS A GOOD THING. SETTLE YOUR SHIT DOWN. DON'T STOP FIGHTING NO MATTER HOW MUCH IT HURTS.

four

Dear Typepad:

Fire all of your designers, and hire competent people. Your GUI is horrible and amateurish. Clearly your staff does not know what they are doing. I recommend people with a strong background in traditional graphic design, such as the team behind CargoCollective. Solid print skills make for the best web designers—the screen is, after all, a knockoff of the page. As such, most web designers and a lot of interactive designers without a background in physical design make ugly sites that are uncomfortable and slow to read and navigate. 

WHICH IS THE ENTIRE POINT OF A BLOG—TO BE READ.

three

I love my girl.

I love my dirty girl.

I love my sweetheart.

I love my dirty girl.

I love my girl.

two

http://blog.linedandunlined.com/post/1044593583/so-much-more-than-the-world-could-offer

Uneducated, unrealistic expectations are a significant part of the “why” behind my increasing pessimism about the future of us (relatively) hairless monkeys.

one

your laugh.

your smile.

your eyes.

your lips.

the way you eat pistachios.

your voice.

your skin.

your smell.

your taste.

your warmth.

your desire for warmth.

your hair.

your butt rocket.

your hugs.

your kisses.

your singing.

your words.

your love of words.

the way you sleep like a cat sometimes.

(ok almost all the time)

your resourcefulness.

your kick-ass Scrabble skills.

your love of family.

your love of history.

your touch.

your stubborn denials about being a good person.

your dislike of so many of the same things I dislike.

your love of typewriters.

your love of potatoes.

your heart.

your love of fall.

your love.

xo